


The Task At Hand

by Athame



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-02
Updated: 2012-12-02
Packaged: 2017-11-20 01:57:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/580035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Athame/pseuds/Athame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A moment captured in M's office.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Task At Hand

He watched her closely, noting in a mental shorthand aside, how age sat well upon her. She was neither less nor more than the sum of her years. The fine fan of delicate lines that feathered out around her eyes seemed almost decorative and he knew - though he’d never touched her- that her skin would be finely powdery soft and delicately paper thin. And yet for all the softness of age, for all the diminished strengths, the encroachment of time that robbed everyone of their finest assets she was nothing but steel underneath. Such a cliche and yet entirely the truth. He knew there was gentleness under there, some silent tipping of the head to her own femininity but it was as much a creature of the shadows as he himself was. He’d felt it rise and nearly surface and then melt away beneath that hard eye and the subtle hardening of those thin lips. He’d even felt himself almost thrill in response as though some sleeping beast had been startled awake. Only it had found itself alone in silence and almost as soon as roused, gone.

The only concessions she’d really made to age was in fact her make up. Good quality, never fading or bleeding, but nothing brash or overstated; she’d wasted just enough money to get the job done and not a penny more. It was as if she hardly thought there was any point in bowing to female vanity. More likely, he mused, it was just another weapon in her arsenal of ‘fuck you’ tools, that made more of an impact than anyone suspected. It was impossible to always be on your guard. M’s perfect polished appearance served her in a variety of ways. He never failed to be amazed at the number of ministers that tended to dismiss or discount her, simply because she was polished and poised without relinquishing womanhood. It never occurred to him that M might simply be trying to fit into a man’s job, diminishing obvious femininity for credibility. It seemed ridiculous to him that anyone might take her so lightly. He never made that mistake.

She fixed him with a steely gaze. “Commander Bond,” Her tone was almost schoolmarm terse, “could you please keep your attention on the task at hand, or do I need to send you for another psych evaluation.” He didn’t know why she bothered. She did as she pleased no matter what the damn things said. If she wanted him sidelined he’d be at a desk- whether or not he was cleared for duty- until she was good and ready to let him back in the field. Or until he got impatient. Both had happened before. He tipped his head at her brusquely.

“You want me to track the last transmissions from Ronson out of station H.” M’s lips tightened satisfactorily with irritation. It was so nuanced a reaction that only he would have caught. Perhaps Tanner too, though he tended to scurry and hide when M was on the warpath. She silently acknowledged that she hadn’t caught him flat footed despite his obvious distraction, and simply moved on. Too many years of dealing with Bond had taught her that he could play games like this for hours if he felt perverse enough. She simply didn’t have the time or patience to indulge his childish hobbies.

“I need that information as soon as possible, Bond.” She stated flatly, already dismissing him.

“Of course, ma’am” He answered, the soul of courtesy even as he rose to go. She caught him at the door as she often did.

“The task at hand, James.” Her tone softened a fraction and her eyes with it. It was a small relenting, as though walls that kept the world out had revealed a hidden door to the secret garden. She held his eyes searching his face intently. That look more than any other, surprised emotion from him though he could not have said what it was. It was as though she knew he was not coming back and she was weighing out what that would cost her, and if was she ready to pay. The quiet resolve that filled the gap between them crowded out the words that should have been spoken. _Come back safe, don’t fail, yes ma’am, don’t worry._ What was the point of any of it. They both knew what the job was. He nodded, mischief flashing briefly almost as quickly his eyes grew serious, the aloof arctic chill thawing and giving faint life to the stillborn promises.

“Yes ma’am, the task at hand.” He closed the door quietly, the moment forgotten as it clicked shut, the solid certainty of his duty a comfortably familiar weight inside him.


End file.
